


Patch

by Darksidekelz



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cortical Psychic Patch, Mind Games, Mind Rape, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Prime turns to desperate measures to get vital information from Soundwave.  Unfortunately for them, Soundwave is not so easily broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patch

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate take on 'Minus One.' Mostly just wanted to write more Optimus and Soundwave. In Soundwave's head. 
> 
> The rape warning is a bit dubious, but I figured I'd put it up just in case.

It was a strange position to be in, at least that much was true.

He had known Soundwave longer than any other mech in this room, save for Ratchet.  In some ways, he had been fighting Soundwave even longer than he had been fighting Megatron.  Soundwave was a threat, Megatron's most loyal officer, easily the most dangerous enemy the Decepticons had, and Optimus had shot him down.  Optimus had brought him back to their base.  And now, Optimus stared down at the once proud and powerful mech, fastened to a slab, struggling feebly against his restraints.  How the mighty had fallen.

But it didn't take long for Soundwave to fall complacent.  He was fully aware of the situation he was in, and Optimus had no doubt his mind was hard at work, coming up with solutions for his predicament.  Hopefully he would find none.

"Why is Megatron stealing human technology?  What is he attempting to build?"  Optimus demanded.  He did not expect an answer – Soundwave was far too loyal for that, but his own philosophy urged him to try.

As anticipated, Soundwave chose to mock him rather than answer.  Optimus found his words shot back at him, mimicked and distorted.  Soundwave had no face, but the simplified smiling image displayed on his visor was easily construed as a smug smirk.  It had been quite some time since Optimus had a seen a Decepticon so unintimidated by his presence.

"Oh yeah?  Why don't I wipe that smile right off his face?" Bulkhead growled, punching his wrecking ball into his fist, threatening.  Soundwave was, as expected, completely unperturbed.

This was going to go downhill fast.  Of all the mechs in Megatron's army, Soundwave was most likely to know every detail of Megatron's dastardly schemes.  His word could save billions of human lives; his word could end the war.  Unfortunately, of all the mechs in Megatron's army, he was also the least likely to squeal.  But Soundwave was a reasonable mech, and more empathetic than the average Decepticon.  Surely Optimus could convince him to open up, one way or another.

"Soundwave, we have treated you fairly.  For the sake of the natives of this planet, tell us what Megatron is attempting to build, before we are forced to rely upon less civil methods of interrogation."

He should have known better than to try.  Though it went against everything he stood for, desperation had pushed his hand; Optimus had threatened to torture another being – another being who was comparatively benign.  He'd had a chance to kill Wheeljack.  He'd had a chance to kill Ratchet.  He always preferred to redirect an opponent rather than use brute force.  But Optimus was _desperate_.  Megatron had so recently tried to cyberform the Earth, and he would not give up easily.  Optimus couldn't allow harm to befall the humans.

Of course, he should have _known_ that Soundwave did not fear pain, nor death.  And he was not one to pitifully give in to forceful methods either.  With his ability to physically fight back disabled by the restraints, the Autobots had grown cocky.  How foolish they'd been.  _Soundwave_.  The Decepticon communications officer.  He had far more than physicality at his command.

His scream was ear-shattering – high-pitched white noise, and a sub-sonic bass, designed to confuse and damage.  It was all the Autobots could do to stay on their feet.  Optimus could only hope that the humans were unharmed.  Mercifully, it was short lived.

"Scrap this!" Ratchet snapped.  "Soundwave is no ordinary Cybertronian, inside or out.  So I would strongly suggest opening him up so we can have a first-hand look at the information recorded on his drives."

Soundwave wasted no time responding.  He'd been backed into a corner, and when it came between defending the secrets of the Decepticons and his own life, he chose the Decepticons.

 "Uh-oh."  Arcee saw what Optimus did.  Bulkhead, however, did not.

"All right!  He's downloading data!"

"No!  Soundwave is erasing data."  Ratchet's clarification hit everyone like a blow to the face.  That would have been it – their opportunity lost.  Optimus had no doubts that Soundwave would have crashed his drives if it meant keeping the Autobots away from the information he stored within. 

But he didn't have the chance.

Wheeljack had leapt into action the moment he'd realized what was happening, taking Soundwave by the face, and slamming his head into the slab behind him, with enough force to leave a fracture down the screen of his visor.  When he tried to struggle back, Wheeljack repeated the motion.  This time Soundwave didn't move.  Far above, Optimus could hear the terrified cries of the children.

"Wheeljack," he warned.  In truth, he was grateful for the action, and that very fact did not sit well with him.  He was Optimus Prime, he was supposed to care for every life – the humans clearly thought so.  How could he condone such brutal treatment of another mech?

"What?  He was going to dump everything, and then we'd be no closer to stopping Megatron.  I did what I had to."  He released Soundwave's head, which lolled limply to the side, a trickle of blue trailing down the slab.

"Is he . . . ?" Bulkhead asked, unable to vocalize the rest of the question.  Ratchet, however, anticipated the query.  He shot a diagnostic beam at their prisoner.

"He's in stasis lock, but his vitals are still functioning.  There's no saying how much he was able to delete before Wheeljack stopped him, however."

"Okay," said Arcee.  "So what do we do with him now?  The moment he wakes up, he's going to get right back on the info dump."

"Which means," said Ratchet, "that we will have to interrogate him before he wakes up."

The look Arcee shot him promised murder.  "You can't possibly mean –"

"A cortical psychic patch," Ratchet finished.  "Soundwave will not talk.  This would be the most effective way to see what secrets he's keeping."

"All right!" said Wheeljack, punching a fist into an open palm.  "When do I go in?"

The atmosphere in the room grew icy as five pairs of optics (and four pairs of human eyes) turned to fix Wheeljack with matching looks of disapproval.

"What?"

"You think this is a game?!" Arcee snapped.  "We're supposed to be the good guys here!  Don't sound so happy about the prospect of torture."

"Hey, he's a con, and a damn dangerous one at that.  Besides, I got a personal score to settle with this one."

"Guys –" Smokescreen tried to interject, but he was ignored.

"Oh, this is about vengeance, is it?" Arcee growled back.  "I agree that the situation is dire, but this isn't the type of thing we should throw around so freely.  It's a violation of the worst kind!"  She wrapped her arms around herself, optics growing distant for the briefest of seconds, before turning her rage back on Wheeljack.  "We should be avoiding it at all costs – Decepticon or no."

"We used it on Megatron before," Bulkhead suggested.  "That turned out all right."

"That was different!" she snapped, before Bulkhead had finished his last word.  "That was . . . that was Optimus."  She averted her optics, suddenly ashamed, that she would put the life of a single mech over the lives of several billion humans.  However, she regained her fire just as quickly.  "Besides, Megatron followed Bumblebee out last time.  I wouldn't call that 'all right.'"

Bumblebee shivered at the memory.

Arcee's reservations were valid, of course – they very much reflected his own.  But there was more at stake here than Soundwave's wellbeing.  Then again . . .

Optimus looked beyond Bumblebee, high up and away, to where the humans watched, wide-eyed, horrified.  How would they see him if he accepted this?

"Arcee," he said, interrupting the argument.  "I acknowledge your reservations, but we cannot afford compassion when the lives of every being on this planet are at risk.  I will be the one to do this."

A silence overtook the room.  Were they appalled?  Had the hero allowed himself to become the villain?  Who knew?  And what did it matter anyway?

"Optimus," Ratchet spoke up, breaking the silence.  "Are you sure about this?  Soundwave is no ordinary mech.  He may have prepared to be hacked.  We can't afford to let you get infected with a virus we have no means of fighting.  Please, Optimus.  It is too dangerous, and we cannot afford to lose you.  Wheeljack might be better suited for this task."

"All the more reason why it has to be me."

"Rethink this Prime," Wheeljack protested.  "Let me do this."

" _Or me.  I was in Megatron's head before,_ " Bumblebee beeped and trilled, a nervous shiver wracking his frame.  " _If I can convince_ Megatron _to help you, then surely I can convince Soundwave to spill the beans._ "

"A solid point, Bumblebee.  But Soundwave is not Megatron.  In his own way, he is far more devious.  I will be the one to interrogate him.  That is my final say on this matter."

Ratchet provided the supplies.  The children were ushered from the room, not that doing so would keep them away for long.  Bulkhead and Wheeljack fetched another slab for Optimus to recline on, and then, it was time.  The eerie data cable was brought out, fastened to the back of his neck, and then to Soundwave's.  Optimus shuttered his optics, and allowed the cable's programming to take over, as a map of Soundwave's neural network appeared on his own HUD.

He was in.

And in that moment, when his body felt so far away and the world around him had disappeared, when he found Soundwave's audio/visual output center, and had his senses filled with the sights and sounds of Soundwave's dreams, _that_ was when he realized his mistake.

_Welcome, Optimus Prime_

It had been scrawled on a wall in giant, neon letters.  Soundwave was fully aware – had been expecting Optimus's presence, and planned for it.  This sort of behavior was unheard of!  Most victims of the cortical psychic patch remained completely unaware until the invader made his presence known.  Soundwave truly was exceptional.

A sharp clang sounded behind Optimus, and he turned to see a corridor, his way out, blocked off by a series of thick energon bars that had slammed into place.  His connection to his body, consciousness – the words of Ratchet and the others vanished all at once.  They had been forcibly severed, leaving him trapped in Soundwave's mind. 

Optimus didn't get scared, not for himself, but he wouldn't deny that this was the closest he'd come to the sensation in millennia.

Soundwave was a mech more in tune with his body than any other.  Using the cortical psychic patch on him had been folly – Optimus should have known better.  He wondered if Ratchet could force a manual disconnect.

_"Ratchet, can you hear me?"_

Only static greeted him.

There was another sudden movement to his left; a corridor had opened up.  He did not want to know where it led, but what choice did he have?  Steeling his tanks, Optimus strode off down the hallway to meet his doom.

Doom looked a lot like a chamber, with six sides, the same deep indigo of the Nemesis, with walls that extended onwards and onwards, the ceiling, a nonexistent black eternity.  In the center of the room was a recharge slab, and strapped to it, was Soundwave, unconscious, much as Optimus had last seen him.

"Soundwave?" he called out, stepping inside.  Unsurprisingly, another row of bars was quick to slam shut behind him.  The prone mech on the table shuddered softly, and Optimus resisted the urge to approach.  Soundwave was still his enemy; Optimus was not about to bend to his will so easily.

"You are cunning, Soundwave," he acknowledged.  "It was foolish of me to come here."

"Yes.  It was."

Optimus froze.  The voice that reflected back at him was not the damaged, mechanical voice of Soundwave, but another – one he knew better, one that had once held for him such unquenchable joy and longing, and had since been reduced to the nasty sting of a broken promise.  Megatron.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned around, frightened of what he'd see.  This was Soundwave's mind.  It would not be so strange for Megatron to show up – the opposite, rather, would be more unlikely.  But at Optimus's back, there was no hulking brute, who, until recently, had towered over even Optimus.  There was no broad silver chest, no flashing red optics.  All that faced him, was Soundwave himself.  A quick double-take proved that Soundwave also remained on the table.  Interesting.

"Ignore him," Megatron's voice said.  "He is inconsequential."

"Soundwave?" Optimus ventured.

"You really are a fool," Soundwave said, laughing Megatron's wicked laugh.  Optimus cringed.  Soundwave knew better than to use Megatron's voice – he respected his leader far too much for that.  Why now, then?  Why _Megatron's_ voice?

"To watch your reaction," came the reply apropos of nothing.  Had Soundwave read his thoughts?  Was that _possible_?  Megatron's chuckle drew his attention back to Soundwave.

"Why Optimus, I've never seen you so flustered before.  It's just me."  A smile appeared on Soundwave's visor, the same he'd reflected mere minutes ago.  "We're friends, aren't we?  That's why you've treated me so – how did you put it?  Fairly?  You really are a saint, you know that?  You could have cut me open, disabled my sensory mechanisms.  You could have beaten me, taken advantage of my prone, defenseless frame," he nodded at the Soundwave on the table, who writhed against invisible hands.  Optimus felt ill.

"Soundwave, what are you trying to accomplish here?"

But Soundwave ignored the question, continuing with his previous train of thought, voice growing sickly sweet as he spoke.  "You could have disabled my defenses, bound me to a table – you could have tried to force me to betray everything I stand for, for some insignificant reason.  You could have threatened to – to _torture_ poor little me!  Or – or maybe even . . . violate the sacred autonomy of a sentient being's mind, all without consent."  The world grew darker, the walls closed in, creating a sense of claustrophobia.  Behind him, he could hear the other Soundwave struggle against his bonds, could hear crackling static hiss from his broken vocaliser.  He tried to ignore it.

"Soundwave," he tried, but was again ignored.

"But you would never do that, Optimus Prime.  You're too good, too pure, too kind.  Mind rape is something only those icky Decepticons would stoop to, wouldn't you agree?"  All at once, the room resumed its original shape.

"You have made your point, Soundwave.  I have crossed a line in coming here.  But you must understand, I cannot allow the billions of inhabitants of this world to perish by Megatron's hand."

"You made me torture you," Soundwave hissed, knowingly.

"That's not what I –"

"But it _is_."  Soundwave marched forward, and Optimus, despite himself, retreated, until his legs brushed the slab the other Soundwave lay on.  "You can disguise it with pretty words, you may claim the moral high ground, claim to have treated me 'fairly.'  Preach that even your enemies can change.  But your actions belie your true nature.  At spark, you are no different than Megatron.  You're just better at hiding your intentions."

"You know that's not true," Optimus protested.  "Megatron has lost his mind.  He has lost his way.  You _know_ this Soundwave.  I know you are smart enough to see it."

"Has he?  I hadn't noticed."  He turned his attention away from Optimus, fixing his gaze on the bound Soundwave at Optimus's back, silent once more.  The weight of his silence left an impression.  He was not interested in pursuing this line of conversation; Optimus saw his opening.

"You may pretend Soundwave, but you know I am correct.  Megatron was once a revolutionary, he once fought for freedom.  But now – he is a shadow of his former self.  He fights for nothing.  He fights for personal gain.  He's become the very thing you once fought against.  And yet you still choose to fight by his side, to defend him when it would be best to back down.  Soundwave, be reasonable."

"Reasonable?" Soundwave repeated, turning his gaze back to Optimus.  His image flickered, and he let out a laugh, again in Megatron's voice.  The sound echoed and reverberated across the halls of the narrow chamber – a dizzying effect that left Optimus disoriented, all the better to unnerve him for the next show.

The Soundwave that stood before him began to grow, outward and upward.  His arms shrank, grew broader, thin fingers turning to blunt claws.  His shoulders grew wide, his helm flat, his plating faded to  a beautiful silver, and his visor crumbled to dust, leaving vivid red optics and a wicked fanged grin in its wake.  Soundwave was gone, replaced by Megatron – tall foreboding Megatron.

Optimus could feel himself shrink; his wings vanished, his bulk retracted in on itself, until he was the same mech he had been these past million years – smaller, weaker, Megatron's inferior.  How had Soundwave managed this?  It should have been impossible.  "What have you –"

"How's this for reasonable, Prime?"  He leaned in close, reaching a claw beneath Optimus's chin, tilting his head upwards, a sultry smile on Megatron's borrowed face.

"Stop this, Mega – Soundwave," Optimus snapped, shoving away the hand.  Or so he tried.  His arm went right through Soundwave's borrowed body – a hologram, or a vision more like.  But he'd felt so real; Optimus had been convinced that he'd been touched.

Despite the lack of physical contact, Soundwave lowered his arm, a smile formed on his lips.  "Now none of that, Prime.  It seems we're always fighting, you and I.  What if we took a moment to talk things out?"

"We never just talk, Megatron."

"We used to though.  All the time, just you and I, talking until dawn fell upon Cybertron – exchanging ideas that surely would've seen us jailed, had the senate caught wind."

"Megatron," Optimus tried to protest.  No.  This was _Soundwave._  Not Megatron.

And yet, Optimus couldn't help but wonder how Soundwave knew about those conversations.  He hadn't been there.  Surely _Megatron_ hadn't told him?

"And then you betrayed me."

"That's not true."  Even to his own ears, the words sounded weak.  He stood by his decision to part ways with Megatron; knew that the two differed fundamentally, knew that Megatron was on a dark path that could only end in his own destruction.  But that didn't stop it from hurting.  They had been close.  That wasn't a lie. 

"It is," Soundwave said with a snort.  "You turned on me the minute those senators offered you the shiny right of Primacy.  I gave you _everything_ , Optimus!  I gave you my heart and soul – I gave you my words and passion, my revolution!  And you scorned me.  It wasn't enough for you.  You _knew_ what the senate meant to me – how hard I had fought them, and you chose _them_.  Over _me_. 

"If you had stayed by my side, as you were meant to, imagine where we would be."

The meaning behind the words was obvious.  _You started the war_.  And though they rang true, they were too honest.  Megatron never would have shared such weakness with Optimus, even at their closest.  The illusion was shattered.

"Soundwave," Optimus said, tired.  "It seems to me that you are hiding from the difficult truth of your own situation by turning into Megatron.  It is upsetting to see you like this, that I cannot deny, but I will also not lose focus.  The fact that you're avoiding it is answer enough for me.  You see it too – his madness."

"Madness?" Soundwave scoffed, still in Megatron's voice.  "We're all a little mad aren't we?  We've fought for millions of years.  Your precious little humans did not exist as a proper species when you first decided to forsake freedom for fascism."

"Soundwave, stop avoiding the subject.  Megatron is not the hero you and I once worshipped.  You know him better than anyone; I know you've seen it.  Look at how he treats those who serve him – the ones who are not you.  Look at how he treats _Starscream._ "

"Starscream?" Soundwave repeated, cocking his head.  And then, he began to change again, shrinking, growing thin, winged, elegant.  Before Optimus now stood Megatron's second lieutenant, arms folded gracefully behind his back, face frozen in a haughty sneer.  When he spoke, his voice was now deep, smooth and warm, with a trace of of a Vosian accent.  "I never knew you cared."

"Soundwave," Optimus warned.  Of course, Soundwave had no intention of listening.

"The great Optimus Prime, protector of all mechs great and small!  Firm believer that every mech deserves freedom – that anyone can change.  You'll bend over backwards to help a bunch of aliens you've never met, but you don't give a shit about poor, battered Starscream until it's time to talk about how bad Megatron is.  I don’t need your pity, and I don't need _your_ help, for all the good it's done me!"

"I am sorry," Optimus said after a moment.  Soundwave was right.  Optimus knew full-well what Megatron was doing to Starscream – how he used him, how he abused him.  And he did nothing.  But what _could_ he do?  He couldn't help Starscream if Starscream didn't want to be helped. 

"I am sorry," he continued.  "But I gave Starscream the opportunity to leave.  And he sabotaged himself, as he always does.  I have been tolerant with him – given him perhaps more than he deserves, and yet he still finds himself back at Megatron's side, time and again.  If he is to get away, there is nothing more I can do for him, than what I have done.  _You_ , however," he said, more pointedly.  "You are in a perfect position to help him.  You could do so much good Soundwave, if you chose to.  Why do you insist on instead enabling Megatron's descent into madness?"

"Why indeed?" Starscream laughed, bitter, his wings drooping for a moment.  But he caught himself quickly, returning them to full mast and, with his hands folded behind his back, casually strolled back to Soundwave's restrained body. 

"Look at this pathetic creature.  Shot down by an Autobot, like the weakling he is.  I wonder, Optimus, if you would try as hard to save him, as you do to save me."

"I've given you chance after chance, Soundwave.  It is up to you to take them."

Starscream glanced over his shoulder, the red of his narrowed optics just visible.  "Is that what you call this?  'Helping?'"  He reached out an elegant talon, following the seams of Soundwave's chest, moving up to stroke his face.  An angry heat began to pool deep within Optimus's tanks, a heat which disgusted him to feel. 

"Soundwave," he warned.  He could see where this was going, and he did not like it.

"Because to me," Soundwave continued, slowly morphing into the figure of Optimus Prime himself, his fingers trailing along Soundwave's throat, over his chest, and down, down, down as he circled the helpless mech, "it seems like quite another thing."

"I gave you the chance, Soundwave.  You refused to help.  And though I acknowledge that violating your autonomy is wrong, I have to protect the billions of innocent –"  He cut himself off, cringing as the facsimile of his own fingers found their way between Soundwave's legs, disappearing just out of sight.  The Soundwave on the table struggled against his restraints, a high-frequency whine escaping his abused vocaliser.  "Don't, please, do not do this, Soundwave.  You've made your point."

"He is only a Decepticon," Soundwave said, his voice deep and majestic; the words sounded like truth when spoken by Optimus's own voice.  "He stands between me and what I want.  I cannot afford to be the good mech I've convinced everyone I am at a time like this.  It has to be done." 

There was a soft hiss, as the bound Soundwave's valve cover slid open, and then, a soft, staticky gasp as the copy's fingers slid in, working their way in and out, creating all manner of lewd noises – wet, and slick, and metallic.  Optimus hated himself all the more when his own cooling fans activated.  This was a disturbing sight, why was his body behaving in this way?

"Please, stop," Optimus said, averting his optics.

"No," said the false Optimus.  "I won't.  It needs to be done."  He withdrew his hand and crawled up on the table, throwing a leg over Soundwave's hips, straddling the shivering mech.  Optimus could only watch in mute horror as a surprisingly accurate depiction of his own spike emerged from its cover.  "It doesn't matter what you want, or what _he_ wants," he nodded towards Soundwave.  "This is for the greater good, after all."  He grabbed on to Soundwave's hips, steadying them, before shifting down on the table, aligning his spike with Soundwave's valve, and sliding in.

Optimus couldn't watch any more.  He looked at the ground, trying to drown out the sounds of heavy clanging, rattling plating, and that horrid constant whine that poor Soundwave wouldn't stop emitting.  And still, despite the horror of the scene, Optimus's own spike was pressurizing behind its panel, begging for release.  He manually deactivated the command again and again.  He refused to stoop so low.  And he refused to believe that such a thing would arouse him.  It had to be another of Soundwave's tricks.  It _had_ to be! 

"No more," he said.  "I'll leave.  Please, I only ask that you stop this."

"I will not," Soundwave said, without slowing his pace.  He sounded remarkably even for a mech in his position. 

_This is a dream_ , Optimus reminded himself.  _He's trying to make you doubt your conviction.  None of this is really happening._

"Your friends are watching from outside, are they not?"

Optimus felt his tanks sink, and all charge flee from him, as though he'd been dunked in an icy ocean.  He hadn't even considered that.  When Soundwave had  taken over the patch –trapped him in the hellish prison of his mind, Optimus had assumed communication with the outside had been cut off as well, but was Soundwave right?  Were the others still watching back at base?  What would they think of this? 

"They are," Soundwave continued.  "I can feel their prying optics.  Watching such an intimate scene.  It's scandalous."

Optimus hated the way that word sounded in his own voice.

"But no worries.  I want them to see.  I want them to see who you really are.  I want them to know that you are no saint, and you are no hero.  You're just a bot, with all the failings of a bot, all of the evil of a bot."

"I am just a bot, it is true," Optimus said, though his voice was strained.   "But I try to follow the path of righteousness.  I may not always succeed, and I may inadvertently harm others, but I _am_ only a bot.  I will fight to do what I believe is the right thing."

"And _this_ is the right thing," his own voice echoed back, punctuating the statement with a violent thrust.  Soundwave let out a short screech.

"I will not be talked down Soundwave, not in this way.  I gave you a chance; I gave you many, and you spat them back at me.  At this point, I must put the lives of millions of innocents over yours.  I will not apologize for it."

"Is that how you justify yourself?" Soundwave mocked, pausing in his assault on his own inert body.  "The end justifies the means?  So long as my motives are pure, it matters not who gets hurt on the way?"

"That is not what I said."

"But it is."  There was a heavy thud, and startled, Optimus chanced a glance at Soundwave.  He had slammed a heavy hand into that soft chest, crushing it.  But then, when Optimus had thought the mech had stooped to the lowest of lows, he began peeling back the misshapen chest plating.

"Soundwave, what are you –"

"It's okay.  He's evil.  Evil done unto evil cancels itself out, does it not?  He deserves this, does he not?"

"Of course not!" Optimus protested, but it was weak.

"Don't lie, Optimus.  You wouldn't be here now, if you did not agree.  Think of how many mechs you hurt with this philosophy.  But I wonder, Optimus Prime, what determines a mechs 'goodness' in your book?  When is a mech worthy of redemption, and when is he beyond hope?"

"No one is beyond hope," Optimus tried, though it was hard to stay strong when he was watching himself tear open a helpless mech's chest, baring the spark beneath.  His own stubby fingers reached in to fondle it.  Soundwave trembled.

"Tell that to the Vehicons."

And Soundwave had him there.  There was no excuse for their treatment of the Vehicons.  But he had to try.  "It is Megatron that continues to manufacture them, continues to send them to their deaths."

"Yes," Soundwave nodded, leaning over his own body to taste one of the spires of his crest.  "Megatron is the one who keeps sending them after us.  It is therefore, his fault that we keep killing them, time and again, without a second thought."

"He has left us little choice!" Optimus protested.

Soundwave said nothing for a moment, instead favoring his own frame, ravishing it as it struggled helplessly against him.  But it seemed he had finally lost interest in that charade.  He withdrew from that poor shivering body, spike disappeared behind its cover, and faceplate snapping back into place.  He was not tired; of course he wasn't.  He hadn't actually been doing those unspeakable _things_ to his own frame.  This was just an illusion within his own mind.  Optimus _had_ to remember that.

"Yes," he said.  "This _is_ war.  It is an acceptable excuse.  Or it would be for anyone else.  But not for Optimus Prime."  He strode across the floor, approaching Optimus, leaning in close.  It felt so much like a real mech was before him.  Soundwave was a master of controlling his own mind.

"Not for our 'one true savior.'  Not for a mech who claims to be the face of wisdom and justice.  Optimus Prime is not allowed to cave to weakness – he is held to a higher standard.  Optimus Prime can _not_ harm innocents.  It goes against everything he stands for.

"And yet he does so, day after day.  If it's not the Vehicons – fresh newsparks, then it's Starscream, then it's Knock Out, then it's _me_.   He would never want his friends to know, but Optimus Prime is a hypocrite.  With one face, Optimus smiles, shows the image of a pure, godly mech, and with the other, he murders our kind by the droves.

"He refuses an opportunity to revive our home world, destroyed in part by _him_ , because Megatron is the one with the means to do so.  It seems I'm not the only megalomaniac here."  He shifted into Megatron once more.

"Megatron would recreate the world in his image – a world of brutality and suffering.  I cannot allow that to –"

"Nonsense, Optimus," Soundwave interrupted, Megatron's deep voice teasing.  "We both know this is a matter of pride.  My personal life is one matter, but when it comes to leadership – well – one of us rose from nothing to overthrow a corrupt government and give a voice to millions – the weak, the downtrodden.  And he succeeded.  The other merely rode on his coattails, and was named supreme ruler of Cybertron simply because he was convenient. 

"People don't follow you because you are a good leader, Optimus.  You've already lost this war.  I may make questionable decisions, but you are not without sin.  You fret over useless aliens, putting their paltry lives over the victory of your own ideology.  The Decepticons follow me because of my might and knowledge – because they know I can lead them to the future they've long craved.  They follow you because some ancient religion told them to.  Think about it, Optimus, strip away your Matrix of Leadership, your mesmerizing voice, your poetic words, and you've got nothing.  Even now, you're trailing behind me."

"Your ideology destroyed Cybertron!" Optimus roared, throwing a punch at the empty image of his long-hated enemy.  He stumbled as he came upon only air.

" _We_ destroyed Cybertron," Soundwave insisted.  "There are two sides to every conflict.  You could have backed down at any point.  You knew we couldn't.  We couldn't go back to the way things were, and you, despite all we'd meant to one another, backed the side that  opposed change. 

"You had fought by my side before.  You had preached the necessity of change just as I had before you.  And then you chose to fall right back into the trap of Primacy.  You betrayed Megatron.  You betrayed all you stood for –"

"I have not!" Optimus protested, but he was tired.  For a mech that never spoke, Soundwave's words were well-chosen – precision attacks designed to deal the maximum amount of damage imaginable.  "Soundwave, stop this."

"Stop?" Soundwave countered, a wicked grin forming on Megatron's lips.  "I'm not the one who started it.  You're the one who invaded me.  Am I not allowed to fight back?  Optimus Prime would prefer a weak opponent?  That can be done."  He shrank once again, until he was in Starscream's guise, wings fluttering, and aft sticking out just so – a posture that was despicably sensual.

"But I will have to ask you to be gentle.  My poor frame can't take much more abuse."

"Stop," Optimus tried again.  Voice weaker.

"No?"  He transformed into Optimus again this time.  "No, I forgot.  You don't like to get your hands dirty.  You make others kill in your name."

"You're wrong, Soundwave."

Soundwave, however, was unswayed.  His optics narrowed in a malevolent.  "Even your precious human _children_."

And that was when Optimus's world came crashing down.  As if sensing the effect his words had, Soundwave allowed the room to shatter and fall away, leaving the two Primes standing alone in a black void, Soundwave's restrained frame still on the table behind them, trembling, exposed and bleeding.  It was the last thing Optimus needed to see right now.  "What?"  Optimus Prime did not squeak, but the sound that escaped his vocaliser sounded pretty close.

"What was that thing you said earlier?  'For the sake of the natives of this planet?'  I wonder, Optimus, how good it is for your 'natives' when you turn their progeny into cold-blooded killers?"

"I have not –"

"Oh, of course you haven't."  Around them, the world began to fade in, until the pair were trapped in a cylinder of viewscreens, the same image projected on all sides – a volcano, Miko in the Jackhammer, blasting Hardshell to his death.  And then it changed, replaced with the shattered ruins of Kaon, in the once-sacred husk that was Vector Sigma.  He watched as Jack plucked a scraplet from the wall and threw it onto an attacking Insecticon, watched as the swarm followed, tearing the poor creature to pieces.  "They're just Insecticons.  They don't count, right? 

"Though I must say, the lack of awareness on the part of the children – that they have just taken a life – is a little hard to stomach.  Nonchalance is not the expected reaction to one's first murder, after all.  You've trained them well.  Perhaps Megatron should try indoctrinating some Earth youth as well?"

"No . . ."  What had he done?  Soundwave was right.  He was right about everything.  Optimus had only wanted to help, had only wanted to defeat Megatron, and protect the innocent natives of Earth.  And he had done just as Soundwave said.  He'd found three innocent, wide-eyed _children_ , enamored by the affairs of godlike alien beings.  Under the guise of their own protection, he had dragged them into the conflict, had put them in danger time and again, had transformed them from innocents into soldiers.  Killers.  And the worst part was, he hadn't even realized.  None of them had realized.

Soundwave was circling him now, body hopping every few steps, pelting Optimus with further verbal assaults, but he had grown numb to them.  He couldn't focus on words anymore; Soundwave may as well have been miles away.  This had been a mistake.

"I'm sorry," he said, barely above a whisper.  Optimus hadn't felt so young and lost in eons.  And yet, somehow, his apology seemed to have an effect this time.  Soundwave paused mid-stride, flickering back to himself for a moment, before retaking Megatron's form.  Optimus continued.  "I am sorry; I never should have come here.  Please, release me.  I am done with this interrogation.  I apologize sincerely."

"You want to leave?  Has this been too much for you?  Have I hurt your _feelings_?"

Optimus straightened up.  He should have known better than to try a second time.  Soundwave was angry, in a way Optimus had never seen before in his life.  It would take more than mere words to appease him, but words were all Optimus had.  Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could find the right ones?

"Optimus, I never realized you were so weak!  I've fought you for millions of years!  Who would have thought that it would be a little dose of truth to take you down?"

"You are not Megatron, Soundwave.  Do not talk as though you are," he said, vainly trying to regain some of his dignity.  Soundwave brushed off the command.

"My greatest rival for eons!  How many nights I have spent fantasizing of your demise at my hand!"  He paused, fixing Optimus with a wicked grin.  "What a disappointment."

Though Optimus would have liked to deny it, those words coming from Megatron's mouth stung.  He hated the mech, had hated him longer than not.  And yet, Megatron held a power over him, the impressions left on a young and innocent Iaconian archivist were too great to deny, their bond too powerful to be subdued.  Megatron owned Optimus's very soul.  But the feeling was mutual.

And _that_ was the key to his victory.  Soundwave had gifted it freely.  

Optimus stood tall, squared his shoulders, and with complete confidence, uttered the winning blow.  "He chose me."

Megatron's visage flickered, revealing Soundwave's true form for but an instant before solidifying.  "What did you say?  He _chose_ you?  Please, you are but an _insect_ before him."

Optimus ignored the jab.  He'd ruffled Soundwave, a possibility he had not foreseen.  "I know how much Megatron means to you.  I know how much it must hurt, that you devote yourself entirely to his cause, and yet he drops everything the moment I arrive on the scene. 

"You hang on his every command.  You stand idly by as he destroys everything you've fought for.  You help him to do things that you _know_ are misguided, unjust, that go against everything you believe in, all for the scraps of praise he sees fit to give you.  You give him everything, and he gives you nothing.  Even Starscream gets more. 

"And it must hurt very much.  I understand, but I do not apologize.  For choosing his path, you have chosen oblivion, you have condemned yourself to a torturous fate.  So long as you stand at Megatron's side, you are a threat which must be eliminated, for the sake of this world."

There was no reclaiming his control.  Soundwave had been destroyed with one hundred and fifty words.  Megatron's form disappeared, and so too did the images on the walls, and eventually Soundwave himself, until Optimus stood in the original room, staring down the pitiful mech restrained on the table.  But he wasn't done yet.

"Soundwave, please.  It's not too late.  Think of all you've sacrificed, all you've lost," he paused, allowing the full meaning of the words to sink in.  Optimus had known Soundwave for just as long as Megatron; he knew just how much the war had taken from him.  When Soundwave failed to react, Optimus continued.  "How can he possibly be worth all of this?"

More images began to float in a circle around the room, no longer so controlled as to remain on the wall, but disjointed holograms drifting erratically through space – tiny bots, laughing, fighting, dying, Starscream, Megatron, Optimus, Megatron.  On the table, Soundwave writhed and screamed and sobbed, trying to escape, to reach out, to reclaim those memories, to lay claim to Megatron.  But he was held back by the restraints of his own making. 

Optimus had hit Soundwave in his greatest insecurity.   It was time to exploit it.

"Please, Soundwave.  Be reasonable.  Tell us what Megatron is planning."

Soundwave said nothing.  However, the bars that had slammed shut behind Optimus initially, trapping him in the room, retracted, freeing a path to his initial entrance.

"Soundwave, please," Optimus tried again.  He had only just been begging for a way out.  Now he didn't want to go.  How could he return empty-handed after all that?

Unfortunately, he wasn't given a choice.  A blast of air hit him hard, and Optimus found himself flying backwards, through the doorway, the corridor, and finally, back into his own body.  At his neck, the cable gave a sad whine before deactivating itself.

Ratchet stood over him, hands held out, hesitant, optics wide and brow furrowed.  Beyond, Optimus could see the others, despondent, broken, traumatized – they had witnessed the whole exchange on the monitor.  He couldn't have been more thankful that the humans had been ushered from the room beforehand.  They didn't need to see _that_.  He didn't want them to.  The humans had so much faith in him; how could they know that Optimus Prime was nothing more than scrap boosted beyond its merits?

He shook his head, dispelling the thought.  Even in the safety of the real world, Soundwave's words were still getting to him.  He needed a distraction.

"I apologize for that," he said, sitting up, and trying his hardest to not look at the deathly still mech on the table beside him – such a contrast from how Optimus had seen him mere minutes ago.  He looked so helpless like this. 

Again, that was a thought that Optimus could not entertain.  He may have defeated Soundwave, but it would be folly to ever again assume that the mech was helpless.

"You gave us all quite the fright," Ratchet said, breaking the horrified silence.  "Soundwave appears to have somehow hijacked the cortical psychic patch, turning it instead on _you_.  It is something I have never heard tell of, and yet, I should have considered it.  Soundwave is a dangerous mech."

"You should have let me go," Wheeljack interjected.  "What happened in there was – it was just – it was _wrong_ , to see you like that."

"Indeed, Wheeljack," Optimus said, trying to fight off the image that kept trying to invade his mind – himself, seated atop Soundwave, violating his body.  He never would have done such a thing to another bot; never _could_ have, and yet, perhaps he already had.  What was the difference between the Cortical Psychic Patch, and the atrocities that Soundwave had shown him?  That had been the mech's entire point.

If that was the case, then Optimus truly was a monster . . .

Of course he wasn't!  It was a war!  Everyone had to make tough decisions . . .

That was no excuse!

"Optimus," Ratchet said again, pulling Optimus from his increasingly harried thoughts.  "I think perhaps it would do you well to go lie down.  You're looking a little pale.  I'll run a systems diagnostic on you to see if Soundwave left you with anything more than bad memories."

"A wise idea, Old Friend," Optimus replied, feeling tired, drained.  His comrades had seen him in a way they never should have, and though, after four million years of war, they surely knew deep down that Soundwave's words were not without truth, to hear them spoken aloud, and in such blunt manner, was devastating.

"And what are we gonna do with ol' Feelers here?" Bulkhead asked, gesturing to the unconscious bot on the slab.

What indeed?  It was clear now more than ever, that Soundwave would never talk.  He was loyal to Megatron over all else, be that reason, compassion, or the Decepticons themselves.  Never, would he betray his master.  But if Soundwave wasn't going to speak, then that made him worth little as a prisoner.  Even in bonds, the mech was a dangerous foe, a liability just as likely to break himself free as he was to crash his own drives.  And the Decepticons were not the type to bargain for the release of prisoners.  Would they change their ways for Soundwave?

But though logic dictated that Soundwave was better off dead than alive, Optimus couldn't bring himself to order his demise.  Perhaps their earlier conversation had stayed with him – Optimus _was_ a wicked leader, even if he did not want to be.  Here he was, faced with an opportunity for compassion.  He _had_ to take it.  He had to prove that he was not the mech Soundwave insisted he was – that there was room for goodness in war.

"Leave him," he said, allowing Ratchet to guide him away from the foyer, and into the dark hallways, and towards his chamber beyond, to rest and recover from the encounter he'd barely survived.

What a hollow victory.


End file.
